


Boot

by ayjee



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayjee/pseuds/ayjee
Summary: Cambridge police station happenings, around the end of Call to Arms.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to inquisitor_tohru for going over this and making it smoother and, like, more proper. <3
> 
> Also, thanks to justvisitingyou on Tumblr, for discussing head injuries with me.

Danse comes back the next day with the new guy in tow. Tough mission, alright; Danse’s helmet looks like he’s weathered a hailstorm, and his teammate like he took a good beating.

“Have Haylen take a look at this,” Danse says, already going through the reports piled on the counter.

“It’s just a scratch, paladin.”

“You’ve got blood in your ear. Do us all a favor and get that cleaned up.” The snappy tone does nothing to ease the new guy’s moonstruck expression. Haylen bites her cheek, trying not to laugh at the way his eyes follow Danse out of the room. Typical – new recruits either hate his guts, or worship him. Danse just tends to bring out strong emotions in people. Haylen should know.

She has her patient sit down so she can get a good look at him. Could easily be mistaken for dark mud but it is, indeed, blood, making the hair gritty under her touch. She parts the ginger strands carefully, fingers meeting resistance where the blood has caked. The long cut just above his left ear is closing already. No stitches needed, but the area’s heavily irrigated – no surprise he bled so much. “How did you get this?”

“We stumbled on mutants on the way back,” he says, eyes closing. Tired – or just enjoying the feel of her hand through his hair? A creature of simple pleasures, then. From the corner he’s been sulking in since Danse let him out of disciplinary, Rhys stares daggers at the new guy.

She rummages through her backpack for a first aid kit. “Did you get any mutant blood on you?”

His eyes snap open. “Jesus, no. Why? Is it hard to get rid of?”

“You could say that,” Haylen replies cautiously. She would’ve had to re-open the wound, try to get the infecting agents out. She’s done it before – and doesn’t look forward to doing it again. She suspects he wouldn’t enjoy it, either.

Her hand is firm as she tilts his head to the side. “Hold still, I’m going to clean the area.”

“Already have.”

“I said _clean_ , not douse in…. What did you even use? Bourbon? Hush, now.”

It takes a while, but the encrusted blood comes out eventually. She prods lightly at the few remaining dark spots, then dabs at the wound with a clean cloth. Leaving him to shake the water off his hair, she fishes the antiseptic cream from one of her front pockets: a small, round tin, halfway filled with what looks like off-white butter. “This may sting a bit.”

“I think I’ll live,” he laughs, and then hisses as the cool burn kicks in. Cade’s recipe, tweaked and improved: much less damaging than alcohol on the skin tissues. The smell, on the other hand, is an acquired taste.

“This will speed up the healing, right?” His voice holds a note of worry.

Haylen smirks. No one’s ever died of a cut to the face under her care. “Show a little faith, soldier.”

“You could kiss it better,” the guy says tentatively. Johnson – his name comes back to her out of the blue - “that would lift my spirits, help me recover faster.”

“Guess the medication will have to do,” she retorts. Her hand might be a tad heavy as she rubs the ointment in, and he gasps.

“Duly noted,” he grumbles. And then, nodding at Rhys, “I think your sidekick hates me.”

“Can’t say i’m surprised. Did you ask him for a kiss, too?” she asks dryly. But his chuckle is contagious. “Seriously, though, if you intend to stick around… well. That’s Rhys for you.”

Johnson grins. “Oh, I’ll win him over. Sweep him off his feet. You’ll see.”

“That’s the spirit,” Haylen says as she rinses her hands with the last of the purified water. “Won’t that special someone mind, though?”

He looks at her, forehead wrinkling. “Sorry?”

She points at the ring on his right hand. “Isn’t there someone waiting for you? Back in the vault?”

“Not really,” he replies, and then busies himself with scratching a bit of dirt off the Pip-Boy’s screen. She takes her time drying her hands and packing up her things, and when he does speak again, it is to ask her about the Brotherhood and the forces stationed in the Capital Wasteland.

 

“Vault dweller, my ass,” Rhys tells her later. “Guy dresses like a settler and fights like a Gunner. Why Danse buys any of his crap is beyond me.”

Haylen pokes half-heartedly at the greenish paste piled on her tray. And she had such great hopes for Commonwealth foods. Damn. “He’s happy to believe if it means things are looking up, same as everyone else. And you’ve gotta admit – things _have_ improved since that guy showed up.”

“Sheer dumb luck.”

“Well, it’s something.”

Rhys snorts. “Lets hope his winning streak continues is all I’m saying.”

“What do you mean?”

“He agreed to clean a few locations. Lend the Brotherhood a hand, as it were.”

She could probably sound less suspicious if she tried. “What location?”

“College Square station,” he mumbles into his glass.

“Oh for – Rhys,” she exclaims. “The place is packed with ferals. One guy from the recon team came back missing a limb!”

He looks her square in the eye. “So? He wants to join. No better way to find out whether he‘s really cut out for the job.”

“And what if he isn’t?”

Rhys shrugs. “Then he‘s your problem, not mine.”

Worwick’s face flashes before her eyes and sure enough, the lump is back in her throat. “I need some air,” Haylen manages before she storms off. Out through the door, then up the stairs, to the makeshift parapet circling the police station.

She’s on her third cigarette when Rhys joins her, not looking apologetic in the least.

“I finished your plate,” is what he says as he sits down next to her.

“Poor choice. The taste was off.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Rhys objects. “Listen – no need to get your panties in a twist over some FNG. Why you or the chief even bother with his stupid ass, I have no idea–”

“I do not–” Haylen starts, but Rhys goes on.

“–But he’s a lucky beggar. The paladin himself is tagging along with him.”

“Danse?” The relief Haylen might feel gives way to disbelief. “Isn’t he supposed to oversee the transmissions to the Prydwen?”

“You’d think,” Rhys smirks. He takes the cigarette from Haylen’s fingers; his leg bumps against hers as he makes himself comfortable against the metal railing. “Not half as fun as running around shooting ferals, I guess.”

“Danse never does anything for _fun_ ,” Haylen objects. “So this has to serve another purpose.”

Rhys gives a derisive sniff. “Told you; he’s eyeing the goods. He won’t just let anyone in – but he is considering McJackass here for promotion.”

Haylen shrugs. “Then who are we to question him?”

Rhys doesn’t reply; they finish smoking in silence.


End file.
